


Sniper

by peaceloveandjocularity



Series: Sniper [1]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt BJ 2020, Hurt/Comfort, Mostly hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24362734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceloveandjocularity/pseuds/peaceloveandjocularity
Summary: Please heed the warning and rating!
Relationships: Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce & BJ Hunnicutt
Series: Sniper [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759102
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	Sniper

The first round of sniper fire rang through the compound, sending people scrambling to buildings. No one was hurt, a few buildings were patched up once the sniper had stopped for a few hours. But then it picked up again and not everyone was so lucky. 

BJ was coming back from Seoul, coming back early from his R&R. He was whistling as he rounded the corner to the 4077th. He’d had a great weekend. He spent two days just sleeping and eating food that didn’t come powdered. He bathed and slept and ate and now he was heading back to the 4077th to undo all the self care he’d undergone. 

Providing he made it back to the 4077th.

The first shot hit him in the right shoulder. His arm jerked to the side and his jeep screeched off the road into the ditch. When another shot didn’t sound, he grabbed his medic pack and dug through for some bandages to patch up his shoulder. As far as he could tell it was a through and through. It was bleeding pretty decently but he was almost back to the 4077th. He’d just patch it up now and have Hawk really fix it when he got back to camp. 

He was scratched from the brush in the ditch and a piece of metal had dug into his leg and scraped that up pretty decently. BJ stared at the jeep. Could he actually get it out of the ditch and drive it back to the compound? 

Another shot rang out, zipping past BJ and into the tire of the jeep. That answered that.

He ducked behind the jeep, hissing as he knocked his arm and twisted his shoulder. Red started seeping through the bandage. “Damn it,” he whispered, searching for his helmet. His hands were shaking as he plopped it on his head and sat down leaning against the wheel well of the jeep. 

How close was he to the 4077th? Could he risk walking it, running it? This sniper seemed a bit more accurate than most of the others— maybe he was a lot closer than they usually were. The next shot was so close, BJ’s ear started bleeding— he’d nicked him. He ducked down further and crawled into the brush. 

He was so close to the 4077th. He could make it through the tree line, across the field, and then he’d be golden. He pushed through the brush, scratching himself on thorns. Another shot rang off but it didn’t hit anywhere near him. They had to be shooting at the compound now. BJ pushed through the brush to the edge of the field and hear voices talking. It was… maybe Chinese? BJ caught a glimpse of the uniform but still couldn’t tell. 

Their voices were getting closer and BJ snuck into the brush line. He was almost close enough to see the compound. One of the voices sounded alarmed and BJ paled as the men were pointed in his direction. He took off into the brush, ducking and weaving around. A shot rang out again, splintering a tree to BJ’s left. He started to bob and weave back and forth as he ran farther from the MASH. 

A groan ripped from his throat as he slammed his injured shoulder into a tree. It was still bleeding but now it was _definitely_ bleeding. His bandages were more red than white now and he was running away from the compound. 

BJ could barely hear their footsteps behind him as the blood rushed through his ears but he knew they were still there. Every once in a while a shot would ring out— the sniper— followed by a few more— the Chinese, firing at him. 

He ran, his heart racing, his lungs screaming. He ran out onto the roadway and doubled back, trying to make it to the base before the enemy soldiers could see him. They didn’t seem very big on wanting to talk things out. Another sniper shot echoed through the hills and BJ slowed down. His body couldn’t take this push anymore. 

He walked just inside the brush line, keeping his eyes on the road as often as he could. He caught sight of his jeep. Maybe he could patch the tire up and drive it back. His head felt heavy as he slowed down. Everything felt heavy, in fact. He walked to the jeep and crawled up beside it, staying low. He slumped against the tire. He grabbed his bag from the back of his jeep and ducked back down, pulling it with him. 

BJ rummaged through his bag, searching for his wallet. His heart was still racing. His hands were shaking as he pulled out a photo of Peg and Erin. He pressed a kiss to their image and tucked it away, shoving his wallet into his pocket. He stood up and tucked his bag into the bushes. If someone stole the jeep, they weren’t getting his bag. Let them take the jeep. The army was just going to replace is anyway. 

His hands were pale. BJ looked down at his torn pants, the scrap from the jeep was bleeding now too— not badly enough to worry about but enough to hurt. His shin was throbbing. He stood up and gritted his teeth as he knocked his shoulder against the jeep. He should put another layer of bandages on his shoulder. 

He rifled through the medical pack for another roll of bandages, swearing when he found none. He could give himself a shot to take the edge off, but he can’t guarantee that he’d be able to make it back to the compound. He began to walk back to the 4077th; the sniper hadn’t rang off a shot in a while. The walk was long and slow. His body was tired. It was hot out but he was freezing. He rounded the corner to the 4077th. There they were! He could see the camp. 

BJ started walking faster. His legs hurt. His shoulder hurt, his chest burned, but he was almost home. He caught sight of the hospital as another shot rang out. BJ felt sick. He stumbled forward a few more steps before dropping to his knees. His head hurt. His shoulder. His chest and his leg. And now his stomach. He dragged himself across the dirt, his knees wet. It was dirt— why were his knees wet? He looked down at the dirt, darkening with blood. 

His blood. 

“Help,” he whispered weakly. “Help!” 

His hand clutched at his stomach, blood oozing over his fingers. 

“Help me!” Another round shot off and hit something across the compound.  
BJ took as deep a breath as he could. “ _Hawkeye!_ ” If Hawk didn’t come help him, no one would. 

He sank to the dirt, rolling onto his side. He could hear a chopper incoming. His sight was going fuzzy but he could feel the helicopter’s blades whirring the dirt in small dirt devils around him. Dirt settled all over him, leaving a layer of dust covering every part of his body. 

He was going to die here. That was all there was to it. Here lies BJ Hunnicutt, loving father, son, husband and friend. BJ heard heavy fire over the hill. He rolled his head to the side and looked toward the Swamp— if he could only get there, he could get some more bandages and patch himself up until he could get to the OR. 

BJ pushed himself back up to his knees. Every part of his body screamed in pain. His chest heaved with every shuddering breath. A hand grabbed his shoulder and he groaned. No. He was flipped onto his back and a hand fell to his pulse. It didn’t take a trained professional to find his pulse, it was throbbing hard against his neck. 

BJ’s eyes fell closed as a hand pressed against his stomach hard. “How’re you doing Hunnicutt? _Get me a litter!_ Hold in there, son, okay? _Corpsmen!_ ” 

“Where’s Hawk?” 

“What else is hurt, BJ?” Colonel Potter was prodding his body but keeping pressure on his stomach. 

“Shoulder,” he gasped. “Cuts and scrapes.” 

“We’ll get you well taken care of, BJ. You’ll be okay.”

_____

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. His best friend wasn’t supposed to be on the table. Oh god, it was like Tommy all over again.

“Hey Hawk,” BJ said, a tired smile on his face. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“Beej what are you doing here?” 

“I’m wounded.” 

“What are you doing wounded?” Hawk’s hands were shaking as the nurses eased gloves over his fingers. “You’re supposed to be in Seoul.” Nurses were fluttering around, hooking up IVs, pinning down the sheets around his body. “You’re not supposed to be here.” 

“I’ll tell the North Koreans that. I came back from R&R. Turns out a sniper was paying a visit.” He took a shallow raspy breath. “Hawk, I’m a little bit lightheaded. You mind if I sleep?” The anesthesia mask was slipped over his face. 

“You sleep, and I’ll fix you up, and if you die on me like Tommy did, I’ll kill you.” 

“I’ll do my best,” BJ said hazily through the mask. “See you on the flip side.” 

Hawkeye’s body was frozen as he stared at BJ on the table. His eyes had slowly fluttered closed and Margaret pressed herself against Hawkeye’s side. “Pierce, we need to get started.” 

“He’ll be okay, right? He’s gotta be. He— Tommy—”

“Hawkeye, do you need someone else to take this? Charles is scrubbing up now, I can get Colonel Potter.” 

“No, I have to.” 

“Then do what you do best, Pierce.” 

Hawkeye’s hands were shaking. “Scalpel.” 

“Scalpel.” 

Hawk took the knife in his hands and cut as surely as he had on any other boy that had gone through this room.

_____

Three hours later and Hawk was stripped his mask off in the scrub room. He sunk to the ground as soon as he passed through the curtain and ran his fingers through his hair. It was one of his shortest OR sessions since he’d gotten here and yet he felt like he hadn’t slept for days— and he knew exactly what that felt like.

“Pierce?” 

Hawkeye looked up at Margaret. “All that surgery and I don’t know if I made any difference. He lost so much blood that I— what if it didn’t make any difference?” 

Margaret sat down on the bench and set her hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine, Pierce.” 

“What are you telling your nurses to do, Margaret?” 

Margaret sighed and pulled off her cap. “They’re on constant monitoring. I’ve got them taking his temperature every half hour and keeping track of his vitals. ” 

“So generally not good, right?” 

“Right,” Margaret whispered. 

“Then don’t lie to me, Margaret.” He took a gasping breath and threw his cap of his head, balling it up in his fist. 

“You did as much as you could, Hawkeye. It’s up to him now.” She untied his gown from behind him and slid it off his shoulders. “Go sit with him. Father Mulcahy’s out there now.” 

Hawk pulled the gown off his arms and stood up, only to fall back on the bench. His legs weren’t strong enough for this. “I can’t. I— I need him to be okay.” He leaned back against the wall and let the tears trail down his face. “He came off the table alive. That’s— that’s more than Tommy.” 

“Is that what this is about? You’re remembering Tommy?” 

“He was my best friend, Margaret, and he died on my table. And I saw BJ on my table and I— he’s unconscious, and he lost so much blood before he even got here. What— where’s his clothes?” Hawk stood up, stumbling a bit, and held himself up against the wall. “I need his stuff. Where’s his jeep?” He pushed off the wall and ripped through the curtain. 

“Hawkeye—”

“The sniper’s gone. It’s safe to go out. Are you coming with me or not?” 

Margaret eased her gown off and tossed it at the laundry basket. “When are we leaving?” 

Hawkeye gave a weary smile and went through post-op, stopping at BJ’s bed. He was wrapped in a robe from the waist up, pants and blankets covering his lower half. Thick bandages were wrapped around his whole torso and another looping up around his shoulder. His face was relaxed as he slept, Hawk could be grateful for that much at least. There was no pain— for now at least. 

Hawkeye stared at him before Margaret grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “Staring won’t help him or you any, Pierce. Let’s just go find his jeep, see if we can piece together what happened. Find his stuff if it’s still there.” 

Hawkeye nodded. He was silent as they walked and that unsettled Margaret. Any attempts to joke with him rolled right off his back. 

“Hawkeye, worrying about him isn’t going to help him either.” 

“How long was he out here?” Hawk said, kicking a stone. “Was he hit in the first round? The second? Third?” 

“Third. He got hit in the compound. He— there’s a blood trail in the compound,” she said quietly. 

Hawkeye stopped and stared at her. He hadn’t even noticed. 

Margaret’s hand grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“Let’s just go.” Hawkeye walked slower than he’d walked that entire time. He was dragging his feet. His eyes were glassy, empty. 

“Hawkeye, look— a jeep.” 

Hawk’s head jerked up and he took off towards the jeep. Blood had dripped all over the front seat. “Oh my god,” he said. He rooted through the jeep looking for BJ’s things— anything. Just something of BJ’s that he could hold on to. “His stuff’s not— nothing’s here.” 

Margaret walked around the jeep and stared at the blood against the driver’s side wheel well. “He was over here at some point. The grass is trampled and there’s— he was here.” She looked around at the trampled grass and caught a glimpse of something dark in the brush. She walked over and pulled it out from behind the trees. “I’ve got his bag.” 

Hawkeye scrambled over to Margaret and held the bag to his chest. He sat down on the jeep and thumbed at the clasp, deciding whether or not to open it. 

“He’s not dead, Pierce. Not even dying. There’s no need to go through his personal effects like he is.” 

Hawk held it by its strap. “You’re right. Let’s… head back.” He walked faster than he had on the way out and at one point he was practically jogging, the bag cradled to his chest. Margaret kept pace with him easily— she was much more accustomed to calisthenics than he was. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he caught sight of the dark patch of dirt leading to the Swamp. 

“Just go, Hawkeye, don’t think about it. He’s in post-op; he should be waking up soon. I’ll get someone to clean it up, okay?” She pushed him forward. “Go, Pierce.” 

He nodded numbly and walked off to post-op, still holding the bag close to his chest. He walked over and grabbed BJ’s chart, looking at the notes. No fever. Yet. “I’ll take over from here, Father,” he said to the priest. “Why don’t you go get some supper. I hear it’s only supposed to be unpleasant tonight rather than toxic.” 

“Well if it’s only meant to be pleasant,” Francis teased. “I’ll come back and check on you in a little bit.” 

Hawk set the bag down beside BJ’s cot. “Alright, darling. Wakey wakey. Rise and shine. Time to help alleviate all my fears that I didn’t actually help my best friend.” BJ didn’t so much as flinch. Hawk laid tiredly in the chair Father Mulcahy had pulled in. “Remember, if you die, I’ll kill you. That’s the deal. It’s the flip side. Time to see me.” 

Hawk watched the pulse in BJ’s neck beat. It was strong and regular, which was the best thing that could happen right now. It was more than Hawk could hope for, especially after having to hold BJ’s heart in his hands and massage it back into rhythm. 

“BJ I know I don’t tell you nearly enough but you’re my best friend. I’ve been here almost three years and no one else has ever been as good to me as you. You put up with me when no one else would and if you don’t wake up, I’m gonna be stuck alone with Margaret and Charles. You’re not going to do that to me, are you? I guess I’ve got Klinger too, but,” he dropped his voice down low, “we can’t be the Three Muskequeers without you. Wake up. I’ll get us shirts and everything.”

BJ at least stirred at that one. 

“C’mon Beej. Rise and shine. You’re going to oversleep our date night. You and I were gonna eat Peg’s cookies that I found when I opened your mail yesterday. I was anyway. Klinger left it on your bunk. That was his mistake but I haven’t eaten any of the cookies yet. Alright maybe one. Or two. They were rum cookies, what can you expect from me?” 

BJ took a wheezing breath as he started coming out from under the anesthesia.

“There you are, you’re coming around. Come on, open your eyes please.” He didn’t and Hawk sat in silence until the next time BJ stirred. “Open your eyes. Open ‘em.” 

BJ’s eyes cracked open for a second before rolling back closed. 

“Oh come on, I didn’t even see your beautiful hazel irises that time. Try again.” Nothing. “Damn you, you’re just doing this to spite me I think. Open ‘em. Wake up.” 

The pulse in BJ’s neck sped up a bit as his eyes fluttered open again for a second before blinking back closed. A little groan came from his throat and his brow furrowed. 

“Come on, wake up, let me see those eyes, and I’ll get you pain medication. But I gotta know you’re awake.” 

“‘m ‘wake,” BJ mumbled. His breathing evened back out and he fell back under the effects of the anesthesia. 

“Nurse,” Hawk called, looking for whoever was working. _Kellye_. “Kellye can you get some morphine for BJ?” 

She nodded and hastened way to grab a syringe with the medicine inside. “Here you go, doctor,” she said with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.” Hawk balanced the needle between his fingers and watched BJ. “Wake up. Wake up and this morphine is all yours.” Hawkeye sat impatiently waiting for BJ to move, to flinch, to open his eyes again. 

BJ’s pulse started racing again and Hawkeye perked up, watching the beat of his heart in his throat. 

“Come on, BJ. Wake up.” 

“Stop buggin’ me,” BJ slurred out. 

“Not until you wake up and stay up. Come on.” Hawk pressed his hand to BJ’s forehead. He was sweating. “Wake up, BJ. That’s an order.” 

“We’re— same rank.” BJ was staying awake longer and that was a good sign. He dipped back asleep for a second before opening his eyes again. “Can I have my morphine now?” 

“How’re you feeling?” 

BJ tried to sit up before groaning and slamming back down onto the mattress. 

“We opened your ribs, you’re going to be aching for a while.” 

“Why?” 

Hawkeye eased the needle into BJ’s arm and waited for the furrow in his brow to ease away. “Bullet bounced a round a bit. I had to massage your heart.” Hawkeye set the needle on the bedside table. “But you’re currently sporting some of my best sutures. And Charles supervised, tidied up that shoulder, you know, Winchester things.” Hawk played with the edge of the blanket draped over the bed. “You really worried me, you know.” 

“I’m sorry, Hawk. But hey, I’m off the table. I’m awake.” 

“I know you are. But you really scared me.” Tears were starting to well up in his eyes. “They told me there was a casualty and I didn’t know it was you until you were laid out on my table. And there was so much blood, Beej. You took three bottles while you were on the table. At least a pint is spilled out in the compound.” 

“That was the second shot. Stomach.” 

“I know. First shot was over half a mile from here at the jeep you crashed.” 

BJ smiled at him. “’n my defense I was shot in the shoulder of the arm I’d been using to drive.” 

“I got your bag.” Hawk pulled up BJ’s bag and set it on his lap. “Can I open it?” 

“Not much in there but go ahead.” 

Hawk started rummaging through the bag and pulling out different little souvenirs. “I was going to anyway. You owe me.” 

“For saving my life?” 

“For saving your life, for making me worry… Scared is not a good color on me,” Hawk said. “I wear it a lot, but it’s not very flattering.” 

“I’ll try and find more flattering colors for you then,” BJ said, wincing as he shifted himself in place. “Also, the Three Muskequeers? That’s what you’re going with?” 

“With t-shirts.” 

“I look forward to getting mine,” BJ said as he drifted back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr
> 
> MASH: @peaceloveandjocularity
> 
> Writing: @im-writing-out-of-time


End file.
